A poem dedicated to my dog, Beau, a Bichon Frise.
I love to see the door swing open.
He pushes it with his head,
Or if it's closed, I hear
A worried snort
And a paw scratch.
Nails on hardwood and the jingle of tags
Announce him.
I turn to see him, head cocked,
Tail wagging in acknowledgement
Of my attention.
My mother tells me
He checks my bed
Each and every day -
Standing on hind legs,
Searching for his boy.
Chasing plush toys down the hall,
It takes a second to start and stop,
Sliding as if on ice.
Crouched low, he pants and stares;
He runs to his bed when I move.
He turns round on his bed,
As every dog should.
Sleeping on his back,
He must have good dreams;
I swear there is a smile.
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